Hadleyesque

Not Hyperbole

2009-12-15T07:05:00.000-08:00

So, you probably thought I was being, you know, dramatic when I announced that I look like I'm carrying a Volkswagen instead of a baby. I'll agree there's precedence. But just so you know that I'm not exaggerating, consider this:

This weekend Veevs attended a birthday party at a beauty salon (gag--don't get me started). I drove her there, and just for the record, I was actually dressed (Well, I had on pants AND a coat! You couldn't really tell I was wearing one of Rhett's old shirts, promise!). When we pulled up, she looked at me with cool appraisal and said, "Um, Mom, is it okay if you just drop me off at the front of the store?"

"Why?"

"Well, it's just since you're so big now, it's kind of embarrassing."

Oy vey.

Wouldn't It Be Funny?

2009-12-05T10:18:00.000-08:00

Wouldn't it be funny if I started writing on my blog every day again?

I KNOW!

But I'm in the middle of finals, have a baby due in two and a half weeks, and am so large that it looks more like I'm carrying a Volkswagen around in my belly instead of a baby.

So don't hold your breath.

Minivan Music

2009-11-17T20:43:00.000-08:00

When we get into the minivan, everyone has a request.

Veevs wants to listen to High School Musical (don't ask why we own this--long story).

If I turn on High School Musical, Spe will unfailingly say, "This is junk. Let's listen to some rock and roll!" And by rock and roll, he means The Doors. Particularly the song "Whiskey Bar". It is his dad's influence, I promise.

Veevs doesn't mind The Doors, either. She said to me the other day, after I confessed that no, I don't love The Doors, "I don't want to like The Doors, either, Mom, but their songs just get stuck in my head." Her current favorite is "Hello, I Love You".

But Jakers is my kid. When we get into the minivan, he says, "Mom, can we listen to some disco?" I think it's quite discerning for a two year old.

And then he sings along to "Shake, Shake, Shake (Shake Your Booty)", because if I've taught him one thing in this world, it's that if you've got it, you should shake it.

Celebrations! and Others . . .

2009-11-12T10:02:00.000-08:00

I don't know if you've noticed, but pregnancy, as a state of being makes me turn decidedly inward. I just don't feel the need to connect with other human beings as I do when I am not lugging around another human being inside of me. I remember when we first moved here to Texas, I found out the week before we moved that I was pregnant. I remember sitting in church on Sundays thinking, No, don't sit by me. Keep walking. I don't really want a friend right now. The idea of making small talk and being chipper and upbeat is just too much work for me. As a sidenote, these negative vibes worked pretty much throughout my whole pregnancy. I didn't make a single friend until after I had given birth.

But today there are a number of things to celebrate:

1) I finished my most pressing item of homework with time to spare for a nap before I go and fetch the kids from school. Sure, sure, I could complete less pressing items of homework and get ahead of the game. But that would mean that I would have to completely change my personality.

2) I also remembered that I had hidden a package of Grasshopper Fudge cookies in my cupboard. They aren't all gone yet, but thanks for thinking that might be a possibility (it really is a possibility, you know).

3) Veevs is reading Little House in the Big Woods. This gives me all sorts of nostalgic joy that I can't even begin to express.

4) I am starting to nest. If you think this means that my house is clean, you would be wrong. What it means is that I pull out all the contents of random cupboards, half organize them, lose the energy that I had, and leave half of the contents on the floor/counter. You're welcome, Rhett. But I like nesting because it leaves me feeling like I've accomplished something.

HOWEVER, there are also a number of non-celebrations that we can just file under "Other" in an attempt to be positive and chipper (I'm not):

1) I am large with this pregnancy. REALLY LARGE. So large, in fact, that my hips go to sleep after fifteen minutes of resting. So I'm up constantly at night.

2) My house. Oy vey. My house. (And it's only partly because of the half-organized cupboards that have found themselves emptied on to the floor/counter.)

3) My sense of humor. Where has it gone? Seriously, I can't imagine why I ever thought I had one in the first place. This brings me back to why my postings have been so infrequent and so frequently unfunny--I just don't have it in me to be funny these days. I'm not even sure I can muster mildly amusing.

4) This baby is an iron-sucking monster. I have been more anemically challenged by this child than any other child, and quite frankly, some days I feel good if I only take two naps. Because three naps a day is not an unheard of phenomenon around here. My doctor called me to let me know I was iron-deficient after my last blood test. I was so relieved! I just thought that my inherent laziness was overcoming all my other good qualities.

So now, having done my duty by my blog, I'm off to nap/celebrate/other.

And now you know what I mean by unfunny blogging.

How We're Making It Through . . .

2009-10-14T21:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie. I'm still a little bit disturbed by the fact that Rhett and I have been happily married for almost ten years and I just barely found out about our divergent evolution opinions. Obviously, we're talking about the wrong things over the dinner table.

So lately we've had a lot of conversations like this one:

Me: So when you see representations of early hominids in the museum, what do you think they are? Like some giant hoax against humanity perpetrated by evil scientists?

Rhett: (pursed lips, vague air of disapproval) You are going to hell.

But I've finally figured out how to keep this difference of opinion (or total disregard of scientific evidence, depending on how you look at it) from ruining our marriage.

Every so often, Rhett will try to explain to me about how the streaks of white cloud-looking material trailing behind jet planes is not, in actuality, a jet's exhaust, which is what I always claim that it is.

"Heids, it's actually . . . blah, blah blah." I wish I could tell you what it actually is, but I always tune out at this point, because hey, look at that plane's EXHAUST! We've had this conversation several times and I always tune Rhett out. Not because I don't believe him (I sort of don't) but mostly because I don't want to be bothered to learn something new about something that interests me so not at all.

For Rhett, this fascination with airplane exhaust systems (please, please imagine the eye rolling that he's going to do when he reads that phrase) is in his blood. He and his dad (and now my kids, too) are jet fanatics. His dad has been known to sit on the porch with a pair of binoculars to better identify the military aircraft flying overhead (how fortuitous that he lives so close to an air base!). Rhett takes our kids every year to the local airshow, and has embarrassingly been known to tell me the manufacturer and make of anything that moves in the sky. I went with Rhett one year to the air show and discovered hey! Rhett actually wanted to look at planes. And hey! he also wanted to stay for longer than an hour, so ever since then it's been one of those things that I let him enjoy in peace. I think it's good for him to have his own interests.

So, my point here, and I do have one surprisingly, is that if evolution is Rhett's equivalent of my airplane exhaust, more power to him. I won't even bother talking about it any more, because I know he'll just tune me out.

But just for the record--I still don't think I'm going to hell.

Something Serious

2009-09-24T11:34:00.000-07:00

I have all these serious thoughts in my head today, but my brain won't quite let me release them to my blog in an unedited fashion (Did you know that I hardly ever edit my stuff for my blog? First drafts, that's what you're reading here. I know some bloggers work on certain posts for weeks or days at a time, and I admire them for that. I just don't have it in me.).

Some of these serious thoughts have to do with:

Religion and Faith

Divisive politics

The Intersection of Religion and Politics

Why Rhett Doesn't Believe in Evolution

If I'm Going to Hell for Believing in Evolution (Rhett says yes! I am going to hell for believing in evolution! He also says he'll stop by with his five replacement wives to say hi [That's a bad Mormon joke, of course]. I only found out two days ago that we disagree on this issue. Obviously we should have gone to pre-marital counseling. This issue could destroy our happy home!)

Parenting (This is only on my mind because all my children are away at school today. If they were here I wouldn't have the leisure of self-reflection.)

Selflessness

Gender Roles in Developing Countries

There's more roiling around up there, but no wonder I can't get any laundry done. In the big scheme of things, what's my laundry? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Now I sound like a nihilist. Add that to the list.

2009-09-19T19:06:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to raise an independent, strong-minded, feisty girl over here (heavy on the feisty).

So on a feminist scale, how bad is it that she knows (and belts) all the words to "It's Raining Men"?

It's okay because the song objectifies men instead of women, right?

Right?

Tales from the AT Room

2009-09-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

When I was in elementary school, I qualified for a program called "Academically Talented" (the old 80s equivalent to the current Gifted and Talented program, wherein they pretend that if your child plays the saxophone well they could hypothetically be included in this program, but which in reality still functions in the exact same way as the old Academically Talented program did: you have to take a test to see how "smart" you are to get in). Back in those days, those of us who were "smart" enough to be in the pull-out program called it "AT", because even then we were hipsters with our own special language.

My brothers called it Animal Training (which AT could also stand for, get it?). I don't want to say they were motivated by jealousy, but . . .

The most awesome thing about this is that I almost got kicked out of AT in the fifth grade, because I couldn't remember to do the big projects we were supposed to do (this refrain would follow me throughout all my schooling years), and apparently when they named the class Academically Talented? What they really meant was Academically Responsible. After a rather serious meeting with my mother, Mrs. Bealls decided I could stay. But only if I made up that special project on ancient Egyptian makeup that I had failed to complete satisfactorily. Because, dammit, how was I supposed to become a well-informed, responsible, intelligent human being if I didn't know the ingredients used in ancient Egyptian cosmetics? It's still a quandary I wrestle with, let me tell you.

Anyway. My point is this: in sixth grade, one of our super-awesome, this-will-keep-you-engaged-in-schoolwork-so-you-don't-become-bored-and-act-out-project was to create a comic book that showed a new superhero dealing with a current social problem in a fresh and innovative way.

My superhero?

Prostitution Pam. She took on illegal prostitution while wearing a teal green miniskirt and fishnet stockings. Her teased and ratted hair and heavy rouge was just her way of letting the girls know she "got them"--she herself had gotten out of that racket years ago and had now dedicated her life to changing the shadowy world of prostitution. Her novel solution to this pressing social problem? Well, she passed out condoms like they were candy, as well as informing the girls of the counties in Nevada to which they should move. You know, counties where prostitution was legal.

And despite the fact that like most of my other AT projects, this one was completed almost entirely on the school bus on the morning it was due, I think it turned out very well. I think the teacher might have had another opinion, however. I got a 'C'. Maybe for chlamydia?

Insult to Injury

2009-09-01T08:57:00.000-07:00

We don't have cable. First, Rhett is too cheap to get cable, but also really? Like we can't waste enough time on our own? This means that when the big digital switchover came it totally doubled the number of channels we received. My kids previously only had PBSKids to watch, but now they have Qubo (?). The only drawback is that Qubo has commercials.

The other day I was flat-ironing my hair and Veevs said, "Why are you using that flat iron? It just crushes and burns your hair. You need the Instastyler--it locks moisture into your hair."

Right.

Bump-its (Bumpitz? Bumpits? Bump-itz? I clearly have not been paying enough attention!) have become kind of a family joke.

The other day Rhett said jokingly to me, "Hey, Heids, I saw they are selling Bump-its at the Wal-Mart now. I was going to pick you up some."

Spe asked, "Why does Mom want Bump-its?"

Veevs replied confidently, "Because she has flat hair, Spe."

Apparently I'm now lazy and flat-haired. What else is that girl thinking about me?

The One Bad Thing About School Starting . . .

2009-08-25T14:15:00.000-07:00

In my haste to kick my kids out of my house for a good portion of every day, I forgot the down side to releasing your children into the world.

Today Veevs came home and we sat at the table eating a cookie together, talking about her day. I noticed her fingernails were getting long. Okay, actually not getting long. They were like already Elvira long. I'd like to blame this motherly oversight on pregnancy but let's be honest: how much can I get away with here in the pregnancy-blame department? I've probably used up my quota.

Anyway, I said, "Wow, sis, we really need to cut those nails."

She said, "I know. Someone asked me today how come I get to keep my nails so long."

"Did you tell them it's because your mom is neglectful?" I asked.

She swallowed her cookie and shook her head. "No. I told them you were too lazy." You guys. She was serious.

I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. Because what else do you do when the truth about your lackadaisical parenting is broadcast out loud like that?

In my defense, the cookies were homemade.

It sounds good, but . . .

2009-07-28T15:13:00.000-07:00

I just read another blog somewhere wherein the author made a lovely list of things she wanted to do in the course of her life.

For the most part, I was nodding along: yes, yes, I would love to visit Australia, too, yes, yes, I agree . . . and then I read this one:

Make my home the kind of place where everyone else's kids want to hang out.

What? Honey? Do you know how crazy that is? I have a hard enough time keeping it together with just the three who I actually have some semblance of control over hanging around here, underfoot, always asking for food, or snacks, or spilling drinks, or whatever. And you seriously, seriously want to increase that to include all your kids' friends?

I'm just saying, I think I would rather die. I'm not saying I don't want my kids' friends to come over. But seriously, I would rather have my house be the place where just my kids want to hang out all the time.

Because I'm mean and antisocial like that.

Things Are Looking Up

2009-07-27T22:17:00.000-07:00

You know, I have to say, life is looking much, much rosier around here. There are one hundred reasons why I shouldn't say that (Hello, summer. I hate you after two weeks. I hope fall, most specifically school's opening, comes soon.) but I'm feeling so much better. Finally.

I'm sure that during my absence you would think I stored up all sorts of little gems to write about, but no, I'm sitting here just as clueless about what the real topic of this post will be as I always am. So I'll give into random blathering in the usual fashion. My literary standards are very high.

Right this instant, I'm a little ticked about something someone said to me, so Rhett is trying to help me feel better by playing me an entire playlist of music full of revenge and hateful feelings. He has gone to this extreme because when I first told him about what happened, he tried to convince me I was being too sensitive and that it didn't matter. Of course, this is true, and this is the conclusion I will come to within a half an hour, but for half an hour, I'd really like him to join in my indignation. So after I told him he sucked at being sympathetic, he played me "I Hate Everything About You" by Ugly Kid Joe, "Stupid Girl" by Garbage and Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" (which has nothing to do with the incident but which was accompanied by a suggestion that we go key this person's car). He also tried to play me some song by a heavy metal band, but I couldn't understand what they were saying, so he gave up in exasperation. Rhett clearly has a difficult time with moderation. It's all extremes or nothing. Thank goodness this marriage has me to keep us on an even keel. I don't want to say I'm Rhett's emotional rock, but . . .

Clearly, next time this happens, I will know to call one of my girl friends or one of my sisters, instead of telling Rhett about it.

I cannot, for the life of me, find my wallet. It is somewhere in my house, and I even have a vague, hazy memory of seeing it someplace weird and thinking Wow, I'll have to remember where that is or that could end in disaster, but now of course, I can't remember where that weird place is and so I'm driving illegally and stiffing my babysitters with the promise of future payment. They love it.

I keep sending my kids out to collect our chickens' eggs (because I think I have mentioned before that I am scared of our chickens, since they like to peck human beings). Don't think I'm being careless with my kids' safety, though. I equip each of them with a plastic cup to throw at the chickens in case they attack. It's the same system I use when I'm forced to go out myself, and trust me, it works. But then, of course, my yard gets littered with plastic cups and we don't have anything to drink out of. I think it's a small price to pay for safe passage.

Well, this is a most glorious return to blogging. One of my students emailed me recently and we talked about how all this technology allows us to think that our mundane thoughts are important enough for the world to hear about, and boy, Justin, is this post a fabulous example of that or what?

Anyone else have any world-shattering mundane thoughts they would like to share?

Why Rhett Can't Win

2009-06-24T13:16:00.000-07:00

Rhett has it bad these days.

I am not a suffer-in-silence kind of person. (You knew this already, yes?) I am really a complain--moan-whine-and-then-blame-it-on-the-person-who-donated-half-the-genetic-material kind of person. Because it just seems so UNFAIR that he feels nothing (except for my wrath, of course) for nine months whilst I deal with nausea, sharp, stabbing abdominal pain and exhaustion. And then he kind of wants to hold the baby at the end of my misery. Mitts off, little man, you did NOTHING!

Anyway, some days Rhett just ignores me (this makes me more crazy). Other days he tries to sympathize without actually having idea what I'm going through (my male OB/GYN makes this same mistake, and it's not just annoying--it's condescending).

A few days ago I said something like this: "I hate being pregnant! I HATE IT! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!" Because I've told you I'm trying to be more positive about life these days, right? I know this kind of attitude is really annoying to people who can't get pregnant, and I'm so sorry. But I'm still allowed to feel how I feel, and what I feel right now is miserable.

He responded, "You know, maybe if you want more kids after this, we should think about adoption."

What he meant for me to hear from this was that he loves me so much that he doesn't want me to have to suffer through pregnancy anymore.

What I heard, of course, was that I'm such a miserable human being when I'm pregnant that there is no way in HELL he is going to endure this one more time.

And then he said, "And then maybe we could adopt a little Hispanic baby because they have such beautiful black hair and are so cute."

And then I said, "What, because the babies I make aren't cute enough for you?"

Poor Rhett. He just can't win.

What? I Have A Blog?

2009-06-23T14:32:00.000-07:00

It's been so long since I've posted that I actually forgot my username and password for Blogger, which is surely a sign that I'm a loser of a special kind (especially since I use the same variations of the same usernames and passwords for almost everything).

As always (or not), I've got a great excuse for not posting: the nastiest, most vile first trimester of pregnancy. It's not that I couldn't post because I am too physically ill, but instead, all I've felt like doing is complaining. And really, do you want to hear about how much I hate being pregnant? Do you really want to hear about how big I'm getting?

I know I should be writing down these beautiful milestones of pregnancy for posterity and to treasure up in my heart in later years, but this is my fourth pregnancy, people. The wonders of my expanding waistline and shrinking bladder are just not as amusing this time around. (Were they ever amusing? Really?)

So anyway. On the bright side, we invested in a four-CD disco set and I don't care what people say: I LOVE DISCO!

On Wishing

2009-05-23T18:12:00.000-07:00

Remember my one wish? The one about having confidence about this really being Rhett's last degree?

Today he told me that the thought he would probably, at some point, you know, when the time is right, go for a degree in employment law, because, you know, it just seems like a natural progression for his career.

I didn't tell him that because of all the schooling he's done, he doesn't really have a career at this point.

Because one wish dying (MINE)? That's surely enough for today.

What I Wish

2009-05-14T20:01:00.001-07:00

I wish I had posted recently so that the blogging guilt cloud would stop raining on my parade.

I wish I had confidence that this really, really, really is Rhett's last degree.

I wish I didn't have to threaten my kids with extra chores to make them listen to me. But I do, and it works, so now I'll write a book advising all the other mothers in the world how to use my crap philosophy on raising obedient children and then I will sign your copy of my book for you, because even amidst all that fame, deep down, I'm still just Jenny from the block. Or Heidi. Whatever.

I wish some of my favorite authors weren't dead.

I wish I weren't so tired tonight. How was it possible that I used to stay up past midnight every night when I was in college? Seriously, how was that even physiologically possible? (Was that too hyperbolic? It was, wasn't it?)

I wish I slept so deeply I didn't wake up to snoring. This would make it possible for my husband and I to sleep together in blissful peace every night. Or, alternately, I wish my husband didn't snore. Yeah. It's his fault.

I wish I had a child old enough to load the dishwasher. Seriously, grow up, kids. Mom's got some chores with your names all over them.

I'm Back . . .

2009-05-06T07:19:00.001-07:00

I'm back. I survived my trip to the land of alligators (but not without several panic attacks). We had a wonderful time. I got sunburned, because hey, when you expose your bare legs for the first time in a year, you're bound to get a little crisp.

I'll write more later. Unfortunately, these bags don't unpack themselves.

Here with Heidi (figuratively) OR Keeping Kenny Away (literally)

2009-04-25T09:57:00.001-07:00

So Heidi left with the kids for the week to head to the fun and sun of oceanfront property. Again, I’m not joining them for beach fun and sun due to work and school commitments. No, no—I will not accept your pity because sometimes it’s nice to work until 8pm and not feel that nagging sense of needing to get home to spend time with your family. It makes it easy when your family doesn’t want to spend time with you.

I’m going to let you in on some little gems from living with Heidi day-to-day. I know Heidi is trying to run a family show on this blog, but she’s not here anymore. If this blog post were a TV show, it would have a rating of HYTGTBE for “Hell yes there’s going to be expletives!” and PKRSC for “Possible Kenny Rogers sexual content” and OSYWC for “Obama says ‘Yes we can!’ ”. If you are offended by expletives, talk of possible sexual conduct, or Obama, then go to Hell!

Let’s discuss Kenny Rogers......although I know that Heidi loves me dearly because I’m such a wonderful husband, I also know that Kenny Rogers is the only man that Heidi would leave me for. In fact, every day when I arrive home from work, I put my keys in the lock in the front door and try to jiggle the keys just enough for fair warning to produce the, “Hey, I’ve got my key in the lock and I’m coming inside in a split second so Heidi if you are in here in the heat of passion with Kenny you better cover up or run away naked” noise. You can imagine my relief when I walk in and find Heidi sitting alone, reading quietly, on the couch, without Kenny—no passion, no infidelity, no home wrecking. Upon finding Heidi not in the heat of passion with Kenny, I can immediately wipe away the moist beads of sweat forming on my brow with relief and thank God for another successful day keeping Kenny away.

Let’s discuss the, “It’s upstairs”……..Come on Heidi! We’ve been married long enough that if you don’t know where something is located, then just say it. I’m certain that every misplaced child or possession that we own is not upstairs. I bought this crap for the first couple of years but now I know that you are just feeding me a line. For the sake of all that is holy and dear, if you’ve lost something, then just say it. Let us practice—“It’s lost!” There—that wasn’t too bad was it? One more time now, all together—“My wedding ring is lost!” See that wasn’t too difficult was it? One last time because good things come in threes (like the trinity or the Back to the Future trilogy or the number of dollars in our checking account)—“My cell phone is lost!” I feel better already, don’t you?

And last but certainly not least by any statistically significant measure (gotta love the p-value. Wait, maybe it’s the f-value? Both maybe?……I was never very good at statistics anyway)…

Let’s discuss you Piles…..oops! Sorry Heidi—I let your little secret slip!!! I know that this might be a little embarrassing for you, and not the best forum to reveal this little secret, but I figure that there might be others who are suffering with the same issues. It’s not easy to discuss such a private matter in public, but it’s not right to have to suffer with hemorrhoids alone either. I’m not talking about hemorrhoids people, but the little piles of stuff or junk or garbage or clothes or kids that Heidi loves to leave lying around the house. In fact, I’ve spent the better part of this morning de-piling. Much like Preparation H Cream sooths real rhoids, I am the balm for Heidi’s piles. I don’t know how all these little landmines pop up but it is really starting to make me uncomfortable and sweaty….I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

Despite these little (and by little I mean major) idiosyncrasies, I’m still here with Heidi. In fact, we recently celebrated our nine-year wedding anniversary. What did we do to celebrate you ask? Olive Garden? The Cheesecake Factory? Oh, no—much too romantic and clearly not expensive enough considering the $3 in our checking account. To celebrate properly I sat at home, alone, on the couch, in my underwear, watching PBS. Where was Heidi you ask? Heidi had class that night and was on campus until late. She did however bring me home a new 3-piece set of anniversary luggage! Who knew that the nine-year anniversary is the luggage anniversary? I can’t wait for the thirteenth-year anniversary when I’ll get new tires on my car! Oh, wait—the new-tires-on-car anniversary is actually the first-year anniversary—sorry Heidi! However, I digress……

Despite these little (and by little I mean major) character flaws, I still love Heidi. After nine years of marriage it is clear to me, now more than ever before, that I love Heidi because of these character traits. They are not simply endearing quirks but represent who Heidi is—and I love who Heidi is. As our lives become more and more connected and intertwined, I can’t think of anyone who I would rather be with (go to Hell Kenny!). Heidi is a strong, dynamic, and intelligent woman who has much to offer those around her and especially me. I have been fortunate to participate in her kindness, grace, humor, and lack of humility when it comes to her profession—I think you’re the best damn teacher as well Heidi! You don’t have to keep telling me—I agree with you! Heidi, I don’t care that you twice tried to break my neck a week ago—first by sitting on me and wrenching my head back—and then by karate chopping my windpipe when I wasn’t looking. I’m still here loving you, vacuuming around your piles, and waiting for your return from the beach. Please don’t let our children drown in the ocean.

Going, going, gone

2009-04-23T07:17:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the blog neglect, but get used it, because I'm leaving town for like two weeks.

If the stars align, maybe Rhett will guest post again. Because that was awesome, wasn't it?

On Romance

2009-04-13T18:21:00.000-07:00

For Julie, with whom I go way back. We taught at PG High School together, she in a urine-smelling trailer, and me in a hallway that reeked of guano. She always makes me laugh.

Julie had three choices for a topical blog and her choices were: On Romance, On Lost (the TV show), and On the OctoMom. On Lost (the TV show), I have to say the title perfectly describes how I feel when I watch. I only started watching halfway through this season, and I don't get anything that's going on, but yet I'm still strangely fascinated by it. So, I'm not that qualified to discuss. On the OctoMom, I've stayed out of this melee (surprising when you consider the kind of power I yield to change the situation, I know). Should she have had eight babies? No, probably not. But she did. Is she crazy? Yes, probably. But I'll leave the judgement call to the authorities.

So that brings me to the topic that I chose to really address: ROMANCE!

You might wonder about my qualifications, and I have to say, I understand your concerns. But you guys, you must have forgotten that I'm one of the founders of the Tingling Touches club. So I'm totally over-qualified.

Here's the thing about romance. There are all sorts of definitions, and when I talk about romance (in italics) I'm talking about what I consider a (basically false) idea that a man has to treat a woman in a ridiculous way to show how much he loves her. Historically, this has taken several forms:

1. Kissing every stone step the woman walks on directly after verbally reprimanding her so that she flees in tears (The Scarlet Pimpernel).

2. Don't get me started on Wuthering Heights. That's all I'm going to say about that.

3. Also, if you are really romantic (historically), you might want to act like you totally hate the girl and her family, while secretly falling in love with her. And hey, make sure that disdain shows when you propose against your better sense (Pride and Prejudice).

Then there's the modern romance literature, by which of course, I mean this:

In this genre, a romantic man seems to generally be moody, mysterious, and has a strong tendency to walk around with no shirt (or worse) on. But in the end? All those rude comments he made? All the times that he seemed to snub the heroine? They actually were demonstrations of love. He had to act that way so that he didn't crush her in his arms. And those times that he did crush her in his arms? Weakness, for which he is sorry. Because he should stay away from her because she has a bright future ahead of her/has lost her memory/deserves someone better than him/has gonorrhea. I'm just kidding about that last one. I just threw it in for Rhett, who's fascinated by STDs.

My point here is this: Romance, in italics, is ridiculous.

Because for me, the real romance of our marriage occurs when things are tough. It occurs when we choose to support each other when we don't really want to. It occurred when Rhett took such tender care of me after the birth of my babies. It occurs when he calls me from work to see how I'm doing. It occurs when we forgive each other for the stupid things we do when it would be easier to stay mad.

So, romance? Eh, not so much. But real romance? I'm such a fan.

Oh, who am I kidding? I love me a romantic story as much as the next person. But let's pretend I'm not that shallow, okay?

My Newest, Cleverest, Interactive Idea

2009-04-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

So, here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking it's time for you to be a little more interactive with the content of this blog.

So, you know my ongoing series of topical blogs? What? You didn't know I had an ongoing series of topical blogs? Well, actually neither did I, but then I noticed that when I'm lazy I just title a blog "On _________," and it's turned out pretty awesome. For example, this series includes On Chickens, On Rain, and of course the previous post, On Barbie.

Maybe it's not exactly awesome, but it's all I've got, people. So here's what I'm thinking: in the comment section give me your top three choices for the next "On ______" blog that I should write. I plan on doing a bunch of these, because really, have you seen my life? Not exactly rich writing material these days.

Here's what you'll get in return: I will visit your blog and comment! (I know I'm not so good at that lately) And I will write honestly about my opinion/experience with your topic and I'll link to you at the beginning/end of the post. So make 'em good, okay? The prizes available here rival any giveaway I've seen anywhere. Right?

Does that sound super bossy, or what? Well, now you know how Rhett feels.

The Loveliest Thing

2009-04-06T22:45:00.000-07:00

I don't cry very often anymore. I mean, sure, I was a passionate, moody, stormy adolescent and I cried all the time as a teenager. Usually when I cried then, I did it in the bathroom looking at myself sadly in the mirror, because the tears really made my eyes pop. I believe I thought I actually was prettier when I was crying than any other way, which is probably good, since a good 70% of my adolescence was probably spent crying in the bathroom. Nothing like a little self-esteem!

But these days, I just don't see much to cry about. My laundry pile will still be just as big whether I cry about it or not. My dishes still have to be done whether I cry about it or not. I just don't have the energy to give to a good cry.

But today I went and took my kids to McDonald's because our McDonald's has kids' meals for a dollar on Monday nights, and hey, why not? (Don't mention childhood obesity, or the inhumane slaughtering of cattle or anything, please)

The line around the McDonald's was forever long, you have to circle around and then come at it from the right angle. A lady pulled in from the other direction and I let her in ahead of me, which was no big deal, because our McDonald's is an assembly line and they move us through fast.

So I order my kids' meals and pull forward to the first window and hold out my card to pay.

"I don't need that," the guy says, "The lady in front of you just paid for you. She said to thank you for letting her in."

And just like that, I was in tears. How simply lovely.

I felt kinder all day.

On Barbie

2009-04-08T07:58:00.000-07:00

Most people think I would be opposed to letting my daughter have a Barbie (because apparently, in this blog I come across as a raving-borderline-bra-burning-feminist). But, I'm not opposed to my daughter having a Barbie, because you know me. I look at all this stuff as just another opportunity to have deep, meaningful conversations about society's unrealistic expectations for women and their bodies.

Veevs has actually never asked for a Barbie. When we went to the store to pick out her toy that she "earned" for completing her good girl sticker chart, I held my breath as we went down the Barbie aisle. She paused for a minute in front of Pediatrician-who-apparently-practices-medicine-on-the-beach-because-look-at-that-killer-tan-Barbie.

"You can pick that if you want." I said off-handedly. Because secretly, I was only glad it wasn't Cheerleader-who-got-a-boob-job-in-high-school-Barbie.

She picked Littlest Pet Shop Hamster Wheel of Death instead.

But you guys, I have great memories of playing Barbie. And sure, my Barbie was a little bit slutty, passing out her phone number to random men on the street and going on three dates a night with different men. For someone who did this every night, she didn't have a very good grasp on logistics. She got caught every time. See, sluttiness doesn't pay off. Even then I knew it.

I had two Barbie-playing phases. When I was little, I played Barbie with my older sisters, Ginnie and Heather. Back then my Barbie was a secretary named Linda by profession, and she liked to go to the disco and do fantastic splits.

But then when I got a little older (okay, thirteen) I was playing Barbies with my two younger brothers, Dan and Josh (and while I can't imagine them having any problem whatsoever with my outting their Barbie habit in this forum, maybe I should apologize in advance?), and my two younger sisters, Lindsey and Courtney. It was during this time that my Barbie, now named Trixie, became such a slut.

But compared to everyone else, my Barbie was living the conservative Christian lifestyle. My brother Dan commandeered the old Barbie-sized GI Joe (remember those?), who would accost the girl Barbies constantly. He was always drunk, and he always thought every girl Barbie wanted to be with him. Trixie hated how he would always follow her around when she went jogging.

Josh, on the other hand, created Deedee. She was an old Barbie whose glam hair had been cut off into a flat top. She wore Rocker Ken's jumpsuit with an elastic around the waist to accentuate her tiny waist. She had an annoying desire to move in with Trixie. Also, she tried to steal Trixie's boyfriends, and if you think that's appropriate Barbie behavior, then you've obviously played Barbies before. Deedee was a stalker, and worse! she always tried to borrow all of the other Barbies' outfits. If you did loan her a dress, she would find some way to make it tacky. We all hated Deedee.

See? Why wouldn't I want my daughter to play with Barbies? I can't imagine there's anything unhealthy in that kind of creative play, can you? Guess who's getting a Barbie for Christmas!

Talk About Overwhelming

2009-04-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

Wow. You guys really hate Kid Rock.

I understand, really I do. That's why I called him "strangely attractive".

I imagine it's the same feeling that Julia Roberts had about Lyle Lovett.

Except, of course, I would never actually marry Kid Rock.

But that's mostly out of respect to my soulmate, Pammy.

Can You Settle This for Me?

2009-04-01T17:42:00.000-07:00

Rhett and I have a small disagreement.

I find Kid Rock strangely attractive.

Rhett thinks I'm crazy.

With whom do you side?